


Chiaroscuro

by Eliza



Category: Highlander: The Series, seaQuest
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-11
Updated: 2002-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/Eliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucas thought all he wanted was a quiet drink away from the rest of the crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> The Horseman is having a mellow day, think of this as Caspian-lite: most of the flavour and none of the guilt. Many thanks to Rana and Sleeps with Coyotes for being fantabulous betas, and extra hugs to Rana for finding the title.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> I didn't use the archive warnings because they didn't quite fit. Where to start... maybe with what it's **not** :  
> BDSM - It is neither safe nor sane and the consent is questionable.  
> Torture fic - Not really. Caspian is creating art, the pain is just a yummy by-product.  
> Rape - No. Too much consent for me to call it that.
> 
> What it does have is ropes, sharp edges, screaming, and blood (yet warning for violence doesn't seem the right either.) Lots of naked skin, a bit of an oral fixation, and heaps of perving on Caspian.
> 
> And a happy ending -- everybody lives. Don't come crying to me about that and say I didn't warn you

All right, so it wasn't the classiest place on this stretch of coast. But it was the type of bar where the motorcycle I had borrowed wouldn't get a second look. Or my scrounged leathers. Or, hopefully, my newly minted ID. Two years wasn't that much of a stretch, and it wasn't as if I was looking for more than a bar stool and a beer and the opportunity to imagine, in peace, that I really was nineteen. Usually shore leave was my chance to do something fun, be just a kid, or hang out with the guys without the barriers that duty and rank tended to put up. This time it seemed to grate though, being treated like everyone's little brother, the fifth wheel. Maybe it was because eighteen was so close I could taste it. Maybe it was because I had seen and done more than most people twice my age. Maybe I was just tense from never being able to completely relax in private, worrying about whether my roommate was going to come back or, when I was desperate, if he was going to wake up. Wasn't there some law that said that teenage boys were required to have their own room so they could jack off in private?

Maybe that was the other thing that was bothering me. The need to keep everything so hidden. Even though the UEO had regulations guaranteeing equal treatment regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, blah, blah, blah, a submarine was still very much a "don't ask, don't tell" environment. And I was in a precarious situation. A civilian--a civilian under the age of majority--who could easily be booted off, no explanation required. I was pretty sure that the captain wouldn't care less that my experimentation with girls hadn't resulted in any of the more socially acceptable responses. But the wrong words in the right ear.... Things could become uncomfortable.

Yet, it wasn't really the secret that was tiresome; it was the lying. The need to have to find some girl to gawk at when out with the guys. Being teased about my supposed crush on Henderson. I liked Lonnie; she was nice, easy to be around, she didn't set all my nerve endings on fire like...some others. That was the same reason that I hung out with Dagwood and Tony so much. I'd gotten to know Tony well enough so that the irritation overrode any chance of attraction. That had been the case pretty much from day one with him. Everyone else remained at just enough of a distance to still seem-- Damn! The point of getting off the beaten path was to get my mind off of the crew, away from the boat. I redoubled my efforts to focus on a more general brood.

But when you speak of the devil.... The bartender placed a bottle in front of me just as the outside door opened. The gust of cool air was accompanied by the sound of an unmistakable voice. I would have crushed that glass with my bare hands if I could have. Instead, my hopes of an enjoyable night shattered.

"See, I told you that was the bike I saw him leave on this afternoon," Tony called over his shoulder as he spotted me from the entrance. Of course Tony wasn't alone, and they zeroed in on me, looking as if they were doing me a huge favour. Maybe they thought they were-- sailors, like fish, always travelled in schools. There might be a sociology paper in there somewhere. "Hey Luc, nice ambiance. Post apocalyptic can always be counted on to attract the chicks." Tony slapped me on the shoulder as he walked by to take a seat farther down the bar, closer to the lone waitress.

"New outfit?" Miguel whispered in my ear as he appropriated my beer. He grinned at me before wrapping his lips around the mouth and taking a long sip. Such a fucking cocktease. I was sure he knew; he was the only one who didn't rib me about girls. Miguel found other, far more insidious ways to torment me.

Brody took up position against the bar right beside me. Not too close. They'd pissed me off and when that happened I seemed to be able to clear a large area of personal space. Only the captain had the nerve to enter it on a regular basis. Brody was on the edge though and had had just enough to drink to find it amusing to play fraternal mentor. "It's a good thing we found you, Lucas. A place like this can get a bit rough, especially when you're not trained to defend yourself and.... Well, you don't really look very imposing." He leaned in closer with a lopsided smirk that made me grit my teeth. "Someone could decide to take you on simply for a little light entertainment."

Miguel showed his support by nodding at all the appropriate places. He returned the bottle to the exact spot he had found it, using that reach as an excuse to drape himself all over Jim. The man was a sadist.

A heavy bottomed glass thudded onto the bar beside my now empty beer. Usually I would have glared at anyone foolhardy enough to dare invade such well-marked personal territory, but as Brody's taunting lecture came to an abrupt end, I froze as well without turning.

I took in as much information as I could about who was behind me from what I could see. The hand now resting on the bar was clean and clear, no sign of any gang markings. The leather of the sleeve was worn, but well cared for. It surprised me to realize that it was his scent that was making the strongest impression. There were no obvious perfumes; it was warm and rich. The oiled leather maybe? With an underlying metallic tang. Then I caught a hint of whiskey as I felt his breath on my cheek.

"I could take you away from all this...noise."

Soft and smooth, not the kind of voice that you would expect from someone who could intimidate Jim Brody into silence, though the last word had contained enough of a growl to cause Tony, who had abandoned his pursuit of the waitress in favour of solidarity, to take a small step back. I would have loved to have seen the expression that had produced that reaction, but I was determined play it cool. Impress not only the stranger, but educate my crew mates. Dammit, I was tired of being thought of as seaQuest's mascot, always being dragged along but never being allowed to play.

"Is this quiet oasis far?" I asked. There was a breath of a chuckle at my shoulder, but it was the sight of panic on the guys' faces that made me have to squash a grin.

Not surprisingly, Miguel seemed to be the first to catch on to where this was leading. "Lucas, I don't think--"

"Straight behind you and against the wall," the voice said from a little further away. He must have stepped back a little to allow me to move.

I pushed off from the bar, turning so that the man I was playing this really stupid game with remained behind me. I didn't see the point in worrying about what he looked like; I wasn't backing down. No way was I going to flinch in front of the guys. I spotted the empty table easily, a calm island in the increasingly busy bar. It was is if he had marked out his territory and everyone knew to stay away. Unless invited. The idea seemed dumber by the moment.

Again Miguel called, "But Lucas, he's--"

"A he," Tony finished with incredulity.

Trust Tony to get right to the heart of the issue and beat it with a sledgehammer. I pivoted to find myself facing an expanse of black leather. The man had been right behind me and I hadn't had a clue. That was creepy. But at least I got the chance to get a look at him as he faced down the trio at the bar. Tall, around six feet, with what was likely an average build, maybe on the lean side considering how much bulk leather tends to add. His hair was dark and fine, and pulled back in a neat tail--what there was of it: the sides had been shaved to expose his tattoos. What kind of person tattooed their scalp? One that could make experienced UEO personnel think twice about pushing an issue.

"If only that were all he had to worry about," he said.

I hadn't the vaguest idea what that meant. And it could have been very unnerving if it hadn't been said with such good humour, but something made the guys step back anyway. Did the tattoos extend over his face? The ones on his head were interesting. Abstract. If this pattern continued onto his face it might look all right. Or maybe he had a scar. A scar would be cool. I flashed the guys a grin, hoping it conveyed that things were going exactly the way I wanted them to. Then--on some insane impulse--I squeezed the leather clad shoulder in front of me before turning back to the table.

I tried to gain control of my panic as I found my new seat. I had just wanted an escape hatch, not to start anything. The man lowered himself into the opposite chair and waited silently as I gathered the nerve to look up. Everything in appropriate numbers and where they should be. Deep brown eyes. Neatly trimmed beard. Full lips. No tattoos, no serious scars on the fair skin. Nice in an intense kind of way. I quickly bit back the sigh of relief--that would have been very uncool. It must have shown anyway if the size of the man's grin was any indication. The bartender's arrival postponed any conversation as he delivered a full glass and another beer. My rescuer set the bottle in front of me.

"Thank you...."

"Evan," he said.

"Evan." Good name. Normal name. What were a couple of tattoos between friends? "Part of me feels that I should argue that I didn't need rescuing. But I'm glad you did." I saluted him with my beer and took a sip.

"I didn't rescue you. I claimed you. Very different thing."

The direct stare and soft declaration started a chain reaction. My throat closed up, which was okay because my lungs had stopped working anyway. The butterfly wings that tickled my heart into pumping at double time moved down and took up residence in my stomach. Though a few managed to work their way lower. I found myself squirming a bit in the chair. And since when did fear produce that response? "Claimed?" I managed to croak out after clearing my throat.

"You haven't noticed that all those eyes that have been heating up your tight little ass since you walked in the door, have now found something else--anything else--to look at?"

Don't blush! Don't blush.... Hell. "All...what...eyes?"

Evan reached over and ran a single finger over my cheek. It seemed to focus all of the heat in my face along that line. "How delicious," he said. "I haven't prepared veal in a long time."

All that blood rushing to my head must have overheated my brain. Or something. "You're a chef?"

"With the right ingredients."

That feral grin jump-started the synapses again, and I wanted desperately for the floor to open up and swallow me. Unless Evan would prefer to do it. That random thought took a few moments to completely register. There wasn't as much blood available for the next blush.

Evan seemed to take pity on poor, pathetic me and leaned back in his chair. He didn't say a word until I had regained the nerve to look at him again, then he asked, "What are your friends up to? I feel like my back is about to break from the weight of their stares."

The purely conversational tone settled some of the butterflies in my gut. "Jim and Tony are having an argument, but keep checking over here. It's Miguel who looks like he wants to feed you to sharks."

"The dark one?" The expression that spread across Evan's face was one of pure amusement. When I nodded, he leaned in and said conspiratorially, "That's what he gets for waiting too long."

"He hasn't been waiting," I said with more bitterness than I intended. That disappeared as the raised eyebrow, the small smirk, and the way Evan waited, made me quickly expand on the comment. "I'll bet he never thought about me in that way, not seriously, before the moment you walked up."

"Really?" He turned his head just enough to take a glance at the bar, then grinned like a madman as he relaxed further into the chair. "Shame. The boy sucks on a bottle like a pro."

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation in such a conversational manner. This was so great! "So it wasn't just my imagination!" I said in a loud whisper.

Evan's laughter brought everyone's attention to the table. I was so preoccupied with their reaction that I didn't see him move. Suddenly his chair was beside me, his hand on my face again: this time not just touching but holding it still. His mouth was soft. And hot. And gone. That kiss was much too short. I leaned in and the next time his mouth was not soft. But it was so hot that I was sure that I had started to melt. My head seemed heavy resting in his hand. My jaw released. Everything relaxed except for my hands clutching at his arms and my cock making it very clear that there were good reasons for my jeans always being a size too big. He tasted everywhere, gently, thoroughly, with such determination that he managed to devour my breath as well. I struggled for enough control to take small, panting gasps, and finally understood the meaning of the word ravished. Very good word.

Then everything stopped. I opened my eyes to see Brody, Miguel and Tony standing right behind Evan. I started, but the tension of Evan's hand held me against him and I felt a small smile against my lips before he slowly moved back. He spread himself out as he turned in his chair, not only making it seem as if he didn't consider the guys a threat but making himself seem more of one at the same time. Dr. Westphalen had been a good tutor in behavioural science. Then he smiled. It couldn't have been more of a challenge if he had thrown down an actual gauntlet.

I'd been claimed, and Evan was not going to give up his territory easily. His challenge radiated through the whole room and the fight-or-flight instinct rushed through me on a flood of adrenaline. My body might have been ready to run, but my mind never considered leaving an option. And the thought of trying to fight Evan.... Suddenly my mind wasn't alone in wanting to stay right here. I had to get rid of those guys!

"Was leaving the bar too subtle a hint?" I asked while getting to my feet.

"Lucas, you don't know what you're doing." God, I hated being told that! Miguel knew it, too. "Dammit, you're not even eighteen yet."

Evan grinned up at me knowingly. He must have seen the bartender accept my ID. "A multitude of talents hidden in these hands," he purred. He took two of my fingers into his mouth. It looked as if he was simply sucking on them but I could feel his teeth. All of them. It reminded me of the large dog my mother's housekeeper had for a while. The feeling of all those sharp teeth pressed into my skin, the knowledge that it could take my hand right off if it decided to stop playing--it had been an addictive sensation. Now the danger had blended with the erotic.

It took an effort, but I stopped staring and removed my fingers from Evan's mouth. "Please. Go. Away," I said, meeting each friend's gaze in turn. I would not have to worry about these guys haunting my fantasies for a long time. "I'm on liberty until 2am. I'm over the age of consent according to UEO regulations."

"I don't recall asking for your consent."

"Not helping!" I snarled down at Evan. The light that came into his eyes let me know that he enjoyed risking teeth as well. "Bastard," I muttered under my breath before turning back to my friends. "This is none of your business."

"You're right," said Brody. "You're on liberty, and as long as you don't end up in jail, it is none of the UEO's business how you spend it."

"Jim...." Miguel stopped Brody from turning away; he was not about to give up that easily. "But it is your friends' business, Lucas."

"That's very nice, Miguel." I picked up the beer bottle and attempted an imitation of Migs' earlier antics. From the way he averted his eyes, I managed well enough. "Though I don't recall having much influence over who you choose to fuck." He had the decency to wince.

With Miguel having struck out, it looked as if Tony was going to try his luck, but Brody interrupted him. "It may not officially be the UEO's business, but I can't help but wonder what the captain would say."

Now I had a good idea what all the debate had been about over at the bar. All I needed to do was give a little push. "You're going to tell on me?"

The tilt of Brody's head provided the answer. "Now wait a minute, Lieutenant." Predictably, Tony balked at the idea of playing the snitch, and this time Miguel joined into the debate.

For a moment, all of my attempted babysitters were occupied--it was now or never.

"Is there anywhere...?" I asked low enough so that only Evan could hear me. He nodded and rose to his feet. He moved silently and was out a nearby door almost before I noticed. I managed to keep up with him though. The passenger door to a nondescript sedan had been opened before the alley door closed behind me. Suddenly, the game became far too real. I hesitated.

"I'll bring you back to your bike," he said.

"Promise?" And just when you think you can't get any dorkier.

Evan looked at me strangely, intently, so that it made me forget my supreme mortification for the moment, my adrenalin spiking again. He skimmed his finger over my cheek, just like the first touch. "I promise, Lucas."

"All in one piece?"

That made him laugh harder than I thought it should have as he walked around the front to the driver's door. He grinned at me over the roof. "Yes. All in one piece. Get in the car."

I saw the alley door open as we pulled away, but made a point of not looking. Even though the guys had pushed me into the acquaintance with Evan, the decision to get in the car was all my own. To acknowledge their presence would somehow make it seem like I was doing this out of spite, to make a point. I didn't want it to be about them. I wanted it to be about me. I don't think Evan would have bothered to claim me--just the thought of that word sent heat to my groin again--if he hadn't been interested in the first place. And I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make some of my fantasies reality. Even if the face wouldn't be the same. A small inconvenience that I was minding less and less.

We drove in comfortable silence for about ten minutes before pulling into a small parking lot beside a three story apartment block. Walking around to the main door on a quiet side street, I was struck by something I could see on the larger cross road only a couple of lots away. I sent Evan a questioning look. He grinned at me as he looked for the right key for the door. Almost convinced that my suspicions were correct, I jogged to the corner to look down the busier street. The son-of-a-...! I returned to the now open apartment block door with an expression that I hoped conveyed the disgust that I was feeling. Evan just grinned wider. We were three blocks from where we had started.

"Just making sure we weren't followed," he said. "I hate uninvited guests."

Evan led me down a half flight of stairs to a corridor with only two doors. "You get a view," he indicated up the stairs, "or you get space. I like room to move." He opened his door and stood aside. I walked into a tiled entry that joined a large living room that ran the length of the building toward the street. There was a table at the far end near a window with a view of the sidewalk, and the hint of a corner kitchen just out of my line of sight. A short hallway ran off the other side of the entry, and my assumptions of what was at the end of that hall had me wondering again at the wisdom of this decision. It was infuriating, but I couldn't help but hear "not yet eighteen" echo through my head and wonder if they were right. Could I do this?

I turned as I heard the lock click into place and found myself enveloped. Evan surrounded me: he stepped one leg between mine, wrapped his arms around me, and smothered any lingering doubt with the thoroughness of his kiss. There was an urgency that hadn't existed in the bar, or maybe had just been tightly controlled. It was a pressure that made me want to match it, push against it, and for a time I was the one doing the kissing. Though I was barely aware of it--so lost in the feel and taste of him--he peeled the leather jacket just off of my shoulders, leaving it to hang on my arms so that it pulled my spine into just enough of a curve to put me off balance. He caught me before I righted myself, and replaced the garment with his own fingers clasped around my wrists. I had no doubt that they would instantly tighten if I tried to pull free. Not that I wanted to. With his attention returned to the kiss, I was sure that his grip was the only thing holding me up.

When he released my mouth my head fell back, naturally continuing that curve. From the pleased noise he made, that was just what he had wanted. He basted my throat with his tongue then tenderized it with open mouthed bites. If he had used enough pressure to leave marks, I would have been covered from jaw to collarbone. As it was he had me squirming against him, trying to arch into his mouth to feel more teeth. It was frustrating. A little disturbing. Very messy and very hot.

His wet lips brushed over my ear, drawing a full body shiver from me before he said, "I think this is the point when I tell you that you should have listened to your friends." His accent--from somewhere in Eastern Europe if I had to guess--seemed to fluctuate in intensity, but when it appeared it gave his voice a low rumbling growl that set my bones humming in sympathetic resonance. He rubbed his cheek against mine, the scrape of stubble and the tickle of his beard similarly sensitizing the nerve endings in my skin. The effect spread through me like ripples in a pond while Evan waited for a response to his comment.

This was too good. I wanted to come up with something clever, suggestive, seductive, but I think my brain was oozing out my ears. I settled for going with my first instincts. "Because you're a homicidal maniac with cannibalistic tendencies?"

Evan let go of my hands, an expression of mock dismay filling his face as he straightened. "Someone told."

I couldn't help but grin as I shook my head; he did a great job at looking crushed. "I'm a very good guesser," I said solemnly. With Evan no longer touching me, I found that I had regained some control over my own movements. I took a small step back, almost tripped on the edge of the carpet and ended up slouched against the wall after hitting it with a mortifying thump. It took the breath out of me for a moment and I ended up just blinking at him. Smooth Wolenczak. Very smooth.

He was only a few inches taller than me but from that viewpoint Evan seemed huge. He had shrugged out of his own coat and it had hit the floor with a solid thud. I really didn't want to think about what might have caused that sound, and fortunately I was given enough distraction so that it didn't become an issue. He braced his hands on either side of my head and leaned in. Every panting breath I took brushed my chest against his; it was more intimate than the tight clinch. So was the light caress of his face against my hair. I heard him take a deep breath. "Uh-huh," he said and nuzzled at my ear. "Very." He dropped a whisper of a kiss on my lips then stood up to pull his shirt off. I had felt the lean muscle pressed against me but the sight of all that skin made it impossible not to touch. I slid my hands under his arms and over his shoulders as he leaned in again. "Very good."

"You took the words right out of my--" That mouth! Oh God, that mouth was going to be the death of me. The spine melting kiss shut me up and shut down most of the other voluntary anatomic functions. Most. Nothing could have stopped the movement of my hips rubbing my cock against him. Or so I thought until Evan's evil chuckle feathered across my cheek and the half step he took pinned my hips against the wall with his thigh between my legs. Then he rocked. A slow roll from his knee to his hip that pressed my balls up against the base of my erection and proved that my cock hadn't really turned to stone. Yet. It left me looking mutely at the tiny smile on the generous lips and the dark eyes continuously scanning my face. It was torture. It was agony. It was perfect. Then he suddenly released the pressure. I whimpered.

Evan caught the sound like a blown kiss, grinned, then dropped to his knees, pushing my t-shirt up as he mouthed the skin just above my waistband. I took the hint and pulled the shirt over my head. In the fraction of a second that I was blinded, he pulled me forward. My belly hit bare skin--hard--and the room spun. Then inverted. "Hey!" I put my hand down to steady myself and met...nice denim covered ass. I dropped the t-shirt as we went through a doorway and then I was flying. It took three bounces before I stopped. While I settled on the bed and tried to calm my stomach, Evan removed his boots, then mine. He was grinning like a shark. Or a wolf. Something with a lot of teeth. My boots were tossed back down the hall.

He stripped off his jeans then started on my leathers. I didn't mind the presumption; it gave me a chance to simply look. Tattoos and scars--it was strange that the markings seemed such a natural part of his pale skin. But then Evan didn't have the type of body that would have been sculpted in a gym; his had been shaped by life, and sometimes life had bitten deep. There were lines of various depths and sizes scattered over his body, most of them fine and white but some made me wonder: the claw marks on his arm under the bulge of his shoulder, but I decided that I didn't want to know what had made them; the deep gouge that ran over his hip and down his thigh; the bite, the arc of large teeth just above the knee that rested on the bed. What kind of life would leave these kind of marks? What kind of man would be formed by that life? The kind that would keep my cock trapped in these damn pants until he had my full attention, that's what kind. The hand that had been pressing on the bulge under my fly, subtly massaging it, squeezed hard as Evan noticed that my focus was back where it should be. The fastening on my pants had been undone so he simply skinned the leather off me in one smooth motion. The sudden change in pressure made me hiss, but I hardly had time to adjust before he was back between my legs and my cock was in his mouth.

Teeth. He made sure I felt all of his teeth again. Never quite biting, not exactly scraping but always there. So much for the theory that good head requires covered teeth. Soft, hot, wet tongue and cheek, harder palate, then the press of a sharp edge into skin that really shouldn't be anywhere near--oh God, breathe Lucas--sharp edges. And the slide of lips down the length until I felt his beard brush up against my balls Then back up, the head of my cock dragged along the backs of his teeth until only his lips held me, and down again. I was oblivious to anything but the frustrated tension caused by fear interfering with rhythm and pleasure, until his teeth closed in an almost painful bite just under the head, his tongue drawing lazy circles around the slit. The circles became wider and the bite released as his eyes narrowed; I hadn't even noticed that he had been watching me. He moved down again, no edges, just softness and heat and the pressure of his tongue. The absence of danger froze my breath.

Then he sucked and everything ended very quickly.

"Sorry," I managed to say when I had the strength to prop myself up on my elbows again.

Evan looked up, interrupting the long, soft licks with which he had continued to bathe my groin. "Why?"

It seemed a genuine question, and one I couldn't answer. Somehow it had seemed the thing to say. As a distraction from my embarrassment, I gently touched his scalp, tracing the dark patterns there. He shifted up my body a bit and turned his head so that I could get a better look. "Are they new?" I asked.

"Just had them inked. The design is very old though."

"How old?"

"From Babylon."

I couldn't help the snicker at the gullibility of some people. But if that's what he wanted to believe, who was I to dissuade him? "That's old." From his expression, I hadn't managed to keep the condescension out of my voice. He didn't look mad, but I thought it wise to retreat to a slightly safer topic. "I've always wanted a tattoo."

Evan sat up. His legs had been tangled with mine and he didn't bother to move them, he simply shifted up onto his knees so that he straddled my thigh, his cock pressing heavy on it. He didn't seem to notice. It was as if he had suddenly found something far more interesting to occupy himself with, something that allowed him to push the demands of his body aside. I understood that feeling. In a way. Occasionally. His hands ghosted over my skin--arms, thighs, torso--testing, assessing. The touches weren't meant to be arousing, they were almost professional, but the possessiveness of them made my skin start to heat. "No," Evan finally decided. "Ink won't suit you. I know of something much more to the taste of your delicate skin. Turn over."

I moved without a thought. The second and third ones crowded in fast though as I found myself on my belly in the middle of the bed. I remembered the hard ridge I had felt against my leg. Panicked, I raised myself onto my elbows. "Evan, I--"

"Shhhh." He pushed me firmly back onto the bed. His hands renewed their long, soothing, arousing strokes along my back, shoulders, down my sides, up my legs and over my ass. The most obviously pleased sounds came when he touched my back. I felt as if I was being sculpted, moulded into something he was imagining. What he desired. It was thrilling to be the focus of that much attention. He extended my arms across the bed, carefully noting with his fingertips how slight movement changed the canvas he was preparing. When he seemed satisfied, Evan moved to the side of the bed. The cord he slipped around my wrist came as a surprise.

"No!"

My struggles were smothered by the weight of Evan's body. He didn't do anything, say anything, just breathed in my ear until the warmth and the pressure and the pulse relaxed me just a fraction. Then I noticed the very subtle motion of his hips, the press of his cock against my ass, my own beginning to answer it in kind. His lips barely touched my skin as he moved his mouth to the nape of my neck and bit. The jolt of the bite went through me, but then every muscle relaxed. I remembered why coming with him had seemed so appealing. Sharp edges. A well considered promise. I uncurled my arm from under my body and stretched it out across the bed, and felt his smile against my neck.

With my other wrist secure, all I could do was hear his movements, the sound of footsteps moving away from the bed. "Evan?" I wasn't sure what I wanted to ask, what I wanted to know.

"Right now you are mine."

That whole claiming thing now struck a different note, but it produced a similar reaction. I could feel my cock filling again; this time though, I think I understood. Before I had thought of it as desire, a very flattering compliment but nowhere near as powerful as the show of dominance that it was. My random thoughts from the bar returned; given the choice, the fight and flight had turned to submission. Had I really been given a choice? Yes, but it had been made long before the rope slid around my wrist. And it had been made as a symbol of my autonomy. It would be fun to see Wendy try to psychoanalyze this situation.

I tried to relax and listened carefully to what was going on. Most of the sounds were too distant to determine what Evan was doing, but it was enough to know that he was still in the apartment. Then there was a closer sound of water running. And then the slide of something across the carpet. I turned my head farther over my shoulder to try and see but Evan was already crawling onto the bed. Up my body. He touched me just enough to remind me that he was there. His breath and the burn of his beard along my spine. His chest hair tickling my ass. His cock, still firm, sliding up the inside of my leg. He leaned down on one elbow so that his dark eyes could look into mine. I had seen pleasure, amusement, lust, but this was the first time I had seen anything approaching excitement on his face.

"Beautiful boy." Evan caressed my cheekbone with his thumb. "Let's improve on perfection."

The feeling of something slick being drizzled over my ass wasn't what I had expected. Though I don't know why not, sex was what I came here for, but Evan had seemed to have been distracted from taking a direct route to that goal. That was still the case, for instead of spreading my legs Evan straddled my thighs, his solid cock snuggling into the greased cleft as he settled himself. Again he stroked my back as if reading something from the skin, the shift of his weight sliding his groin through the oil. Oh, that was a good idea. I pushed up against him and gave a low hum of approval. Evan replied with a chuckle. "Anxious to get started? Always willing to oblige."

He placed a hand firmly on the top of my spine and a line of fire fell over my shoulder blade. He was cutting me! I found I couldn't breathe. Until the second slice and then I gasped a deep breath and had to bite my cheek to keep from crying out. The fourth cut brought the taste of blood and the sixth a mournful sigh from Evan. He shifted to lie beside me, turning my face away from the bed with a finger under my chin. I couldn't meet his eyes, not with tears clouding mine. I had agreed to this. Well, maybe not to this, but to be claimed. I had wanted to be marked. I wasn't a child that would give up when things got tough. I could do this. I could.

"Don't deny me, boy," Evan chided softly.

The gentle tone brought my eyes up to his, dislodging a tear to run down my nose. He smiled at that, catching the drop with his thumb and licking it off. When he lowered his mouth I would have backed way if I could; I didn't want him to know what I had done. He worried, licked and teased at my lips enough to have tasted the blood from when I bit though my cheek. I relaxed into the kiss then, allowing the pleasure to soothe the ache and sting of the cuts and the bite. I was sure that he would soon dismiss me as not worth his time. What I got was a taste of a passion that complemented the pain--challenging, demanding, almost overwhelming.

"Don't hold back," he breathed, pulling back just enough to speak. "I want you. I want all of you: your tears, your blood, your voice." He gave me another quick, hungry kiss before he moved back up to his seat on my thighs. "Scream for me," he snarled.

And I did, as heat--sharp and liquid--traced a sinuous path under my shoulder blades. I felt a trickle down my side and then the pressure of Evan's tongue meeting the escaped drop. His rumbling purr startled me. I though I had made myself deaf with that cry, but the sound of the requested gasps and whimpers and moans that followed showed me that mistake. I also thought I could feel nothing but the pain--that was proved wrong, too. The slide of Evan's cock against my ass may not have been as vivid as the slide of the steel, but like the bass line in music, it brought the rest into more brilliant relief. Amazingly, my own erection started to distract me. Evan must have understood the subtle squirming for he sat back and reached under me. He shifted my cock to a more comfortable position, giving it a few strokes with his hand as the blade cut another deep line in my flesh. I didn't need a prompt for the scream this time.

It was closely followed by a contented sound from Evan, and I suddenly realized that I wanted him to see me like this. To see me-- screaming, groaning, feeling. I often had the impression that I was trapped, covered in a skin that wasn't mine, the clothing of kid, geek, son, genius; all of them with their own allowed set of emotions. This experience was beyond being nude. Evan didn't know--didn't care-- about all that other stuff. He said he wanted me. I tried to let the rest go. The next pass of the knife was barely a scratch, one that I would have usually borne in silence; this time it produced a sigh and a shudder and a slight arch into the blade. "Very nice," Evan said. The next mark was deeper, the next longer, the next... I don't know. I stopped thinking about the individual slices and my reactions to them, and let the waves of sensation take me. They were the only thing left as the rest of seemed to float away.

I don't know how long it was between the time Evan stopped and when I realized that he had. He was beside me, his missing weight the lightness that I was still feeling. One hand had gently fisted into my hair; it guided my face up off the bed as my eyes regained focus. He rested his forehead on the tear-soaked sheets, his chin at my shoulder, then slid the other hand under my chest and lifted me up enough so that he could get under me, kiss me deeply. From this twisted position it seem as if I should be the one that was kissing him, except I could have never created the heat of this exchange. I envied him, the man who was mutilating my flesh, for his ability to allow himself to want so completely, so unreservedly and not to be afraid to ask for what he wanted. My needs had always had to be negotiated, scheduled, accommodated, and so in my guilt at inconveniencing the world, I tried so hard not to need so much...or want at all.

One last lick along my bottom lip and Evan moved away, and I finally saw the knife: long, narrow, with what looked like a surgically sharp tip. The once shiny steel was now stained red. With my blood. The concrete evidence sitting on the sheet stunned me so completely that it wasn't until I felt my body being pierced again that I realized what Evan was doing. More oil had been poured over me and likely spread on him, but there wasn't any of the polite preparation that I had heard about. He went slow though and I did my best to relax. My breath roared in my ears only to be breached by my own whimper of pain. It made me feel slightly ridiculous after what I had just been through.

He stopped then though, holding still in me a few moments before almost pulling out and adding more oil. The next stroke advanced a little quicker until resistance was met and then it was back to the slow, undeniable assault. Again an addition of oil, but the third time Evan's entry into me was the just the warning. The rest of his body followed, pulling on the wounds on my back, sliding in the blood until his mouth reached my jaw. He worried the knob of bone under my ear then moved onto my neck, sucking, biting, licking across the nape and over to my far shoulder. All the while his hips moved in a maddeningly erratic and lazy rhythm that seemed determined to press against my prostate just enough to make me crave more direct contact. He turned my body into one dull, throbbing ache, the worst being the one I was lying on.

Satisfied when my whimpers turned to groans of frustration, Evan lifted himself from my back. "Oh. I smeared it," he drawled softly in my ear. God, he was good at that. It was as if he did most of his talking this close, this intimate. He didn't whisper, but it was so quiet, so low that there was none of the intrusion that often happened when someone talks too close. With Evan it was as if he wanted his voice to be a physical touch, and he succeeded. I tried turning my head to kiss him, desperate to touch that voice again, but he gently prevented me from moving; he stroked my hair while purring soothing noises then placed a kiss along my cheek bone. That was almost as good and I closed my eyes from the seduction of it. "Such beautiful eyelashes." He feathered his finger along the damp tips.

Then he sat back, adjusting my hips as he did so, folding my legs up under me. I was as pliant as clay under his hands. My cock wasn't happy with the loss of pressure and my body started to complain from the absence of stimulation after such a deluge. Evan was still in me and I canted my hips in encouragement. The harsh laugh wasn't the response I was looking for, but I was appeased as he settled into a better position.

"Demanding little pet, aren't you? Can't have you drying with this mess though."

I felt the drag of a damp cloth across my back and then...lightning--bright, brilliant, outlining every slice in my skin. I howled and bucked, impaling myself up to the hilt of Evan's cock. The new pain caused another moan and I shifted myself off only to slam back again as another swipe of the cloth brought renewed agony to my back. There was never any pattern to it, I was simply a worm squirming on a hook, writhing between the ache in my shoulders, the sharp torture on my skin, and the dull throb in my ass. I was pinned like an insect with outspread wings.

Finally, Evan set the cloth aside. "Perfect. More than beautiful." He dragged rough palms against my chest as he curved over my back. I expected more lightning to flash along the lines he had made but all he did was set brief touches with lips and tongue in the spaces in between. I missed it. I found I missed the keen agony, the focused intensity.

He was barely shifting within me, but it was steady, a regular beat. I could feel a tension in him that hadn't been there before. My cock firmed. It had softened as Evan had polished his creation, but the aftereffects of adrenaline were doing their work. As were the long caresses he lavished along my chest, sides, down my legs. And the brief, tight grips he took on my hips before moving on again. And the worship that he continued over my skin, accompanied by a litany. I didn't recognize most of the words, I couldn't even recognize most of the languages, but just the sound of his voice....

"Please!" I hadn't meant to say it, and certainly not as the sob that it came out as. He froze. His stillness made me aware of my own movement. I was shaking. It wasn't from pain or shock or fear; it was as if I had been overcharged. I needed.... I wanted. Evan leaned down on one elbow, threaded his fingers through my hair and looked into my eyes. He searched for something; I have no idea what he was looking for or if he found it, but he pushed himself off of his elbow, his hand leaving my hair and reaching around me.

His calloused fist surrounded my cock, producing a measure of the bright torment again but this time I welcomed it. I dove into it and Evan dove into me. Every stroke of hand and cock brought me to the edge of pain until it blossomed, exploded like a supernova, slow motion destruction. Liquid heat coated my skin again, not red this time. I screamed again...I think. I really don't remember much until startling at the low hiss Evan inhaled through clenched teeth as his fingers made bruises on my hips.

Reshaped again. My legs were unfolded though still spread wide over the bed. Evan lay on his hip between them, his legs tangled with one of mine as he traced whirls on my ass and thighs. Occasionally he dipped his finger into me like I was an ink well. I wondered if I would be able to distinguish the design by the tightness of my skin as the pattern dried. He shifted suddenly and I felt heat and teeth. The pain was there too, but it didn't repulse like it would have before. I pushed into it and was rewarded with a purring growl hummed against my flesh.

I saw the reddened lips as he came up beside the bed to untie the ropes, evidence of the artist's signature placed in the crease where my ass met my right thigh. He didn't smile. I couldn't, didn't have the energy. Had to use it all to untie the other knot, he had only freed one hand before disappearing from the room. I curled around to work on the binding, not quite ready to leave the security of the mattress. This was beyond the typical post-orgasmic languor, no warm pleasant afterglow here. The knot gave me something to focus on other than my own emptiness. I had been stripped, completely drained...and was ready to be refilled again. The lingering sadness dissipated with that thought, and the lethargy fell away with the bindings. I rose to my knees on the bed with a renewed sense of power. What I had endured...experienced...I couldn't put it into words yet. But it was a good. I knew that.

"Lucas."

The silence had been so complete that the sound of Evan's voice startled me. I looked up to the bedroom doorway in time to see him toss me a damp cloth. He had pulled on his jeans and cleaned his face, but a mottled stain still reddened his torso down to the waistband. I remembered the weight of him. So did my cock.

The few moments I took to clean up allowed my body the time to reconsider its unreasonable demands before I got dressed. The borrowed leather pants still had my underwear conveniently inside. Good thing, too, Jeremy wouldn't have appreciated the leathers being returned sticky. I caught the sight of myself in the mirror. The ropes had been snug, not tight, and my struggles had left burns around both wrists. I'd have to wear extra long sleeves for a few days; fortunately, that wasn't out of the ordinary. Otherwise, I really didn't look all that much different than I would have after a restless night's sleep. But if I turned.... I didn't. I knew the lines were there. And those were only the ones on the outside; the ones that made the strongest impression, a far more permanent one, were inside. It's not as if Evan had remade me, no matter how pliable I had felt at times, or had given or taken anything from who I was. All he had done was show me where the lines were, how to find the edges of the vague assumptions and suspicions I had about myself. I had a much better idea of what I could do, what I would do, than I had just a few hours ago. I had the strangest feeling though that every once in a while those lines would have to be smeared in order to sharpen them again. Sometimes you had to feel the pain as you crossed them in order to know where they were.

There was a red smudge near my shoulder and I wet my thumb to rub it off. Evan deflected my hand and used his tongue instead. If I hadn't seen him come up behind me in the mirror I would have jumped out of my skin. Damn, the man was quiet when he wanted to be. It was interesting to watch his face as he admired his work. There was a wistfulness as his fingers traced the lines he had carved into me. "In a few years, likely only the deepest lines will be easily noticeable." He met my eyes in the mirror as he leaned in closer to my ear. "Though anyone with the inclination to be observant should be able to make out the details."

"Or maybe someone who already knows they're there?" I was a little shocked at my own boldness, the new boundaries I had found still unfamiliar, but he was the one who had showed me how to want. I turned to face him as I slid my hand up his body, intending on finally releasing his hair and pulling that sinful mouth down to mine. I didn't make it that far. Evan grabbed my wrist, twisting cruelly over the tender abrasions, and moved my hand from his chest. My t-shirt was shoved into it before he let it go.

"Next time, I won't be able to promise all in one piece."

So that was the look that could silence a room. The same instincts that had prompted me to go with Evan now did a 180. This was not going to end with a date set for next year. Or even with a warm kiss and promises that we had no intention of keeping. This was going to end now. Right now. With me grabbing my boots and jacket on the way out the door and not looking.... Okay, I looked back. Evan had followed me down the corridor and had leaned against the entryway wall, far too close for me not to have heard him, likely capable of slicing me up into little bits and putting me in a stew pot. And still as sexy as hell. Fuck.

I closed the door and managed to shrug into my jacket and stuff the t-shirt in a pocket before having to sit on the front stoop to put on my boots. A quick inventory of the rest of my pockets gave me no excuse to go back. Not that I wanted an excuse to go back, oh no, I liked being all in one piece. Particularly now that Evan had shown me some of the variations found in that piece. A block away I gave into the urge to look back again, though I was thankful that none of the windows were his. The huge sigh--relief--regret--split some of the scabs, and the needles of pain made me shiver. One day soon, I'd catch my reflection in a mirror and marvel at the artistry. And the gift he had made me by letting me survive it.


End file.
